


i'm just a reader; you're every chapter

by diets0dasociety



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 13x14 to 18x18, Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, M/M, Panic Attacks, almost not worth mentioning but very vague hints of sexual activity, it's so fluffy it's unbelievable, lots of soppy poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7638220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diets0dasociety/pseuds/diets0dasociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum thinks he might be in love with Michael, in a more than platonic but less than romantic way, if that exists. He’s almost certain it does, though, because there’s no other way to describe the way they both seem to get lost in each other so much.</p><p> </p><p>or, Michael keeps having panic attacks, but Calum's always there to calm him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm just a reader; you're every chapter

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a side project to distract myself from my longfic, but I've accidentally fallen in love with it. Oops?
> 
> Title is taken from Sorry by As It Is, the reasons for which become obvious as you read.
> 
> All the quotes/facts in this are accurate and from actual books that exist, if you'd like to know which just leave a comment! Also, the fifth "part" of this is separated into different perspectives with an asterisk indicating the perspective swap. It's pretty easy to follow, just so everyone's certain.
> 
> IMPORTANT: this whole story is panic attack central, so PLEASE don't read if that will put you in an uncomfortable position. As much as I would love you all to read this, my shit is not worth putting yourself in any sort of bad situation for.
> 
> I think that's everything! I hope you all enjoy, remember to leave kudos and comment if you feel so inclined <3

It’s a hot day in Sydney.

Not obnoxiously hot, like the past few weeks have been, but sunny and pleasant and the perfect temperature for a paddling pool party in the back garden. It’s Calum’s favourite weather, he thinks, because it means he can wear his spider-man shorts and bring ice pops to school without fear of people judging him for being immature. Football’s more fun in this heat, too; the field’s sprinklers make the sidelines all sludgy and somehow every training session turns into the entire team belly sliding between corner flags. Calum knows Michael hates this weather, though, because Michael’s bedroom always gets too hot, meaning he can’t play video games under his duvet after school. Not that he comes to school much when it’s this hot. Calum tells everyone who’ll listen that it’s due to Michael’s immune system, that he gets too ill in the heat, just so nobody ever finds out the real reason. Calum thinks it’s a bit stupid, because everybody gets sweaty when it’s this sunny so nobody would notice Michael like he thinks they would, but Calum’s a good friend anyway and makes sure nobody gets suspicious. After all, he would do anything for Michael.

Like now, for instance. They’re in the Cliffords’ back garden; Michael wrapped up in a towel and sat on the patio watching Calum as he runs around the grass with blu-tac and bedsheets. It’s a peculiar sight, one that Michael’s mum simply shakes her head at when she catches a glimpse through the kitchen window, but Calum doesn’t particularly mind. He’s preparing the garden exactly how Michael likes it for a paddling pool party, which primarily involves covering up the gaps in the fence so the neighbours sunbathing next door can’t see in. Calum couldn’t care less if they see _him_ , because he’s topless at every opportunity and the most outgoing thirteen-year-old at their school, but Michael’s a little pale and insecure and likes to wear baggy jumpers instead of swim shorts, and Calum’s happy to do anything to make Michael comfortable, even if that means spending half an hour sealing up the garden.

“I think I’m finished!” Calum shouts from the bottom corner of the lawn, where he’s just flung his favourite LFC towel over the fence to cover the last little gap. The panels are mossy and damp, and Calum can see little green stains seeping through the red badge already but whatever. It’s not like he can’t just save up and get a new one.

Michael perks up at Calum’s declaration, pushing himself off the patio and tightening his grip on the towel around his shoulders. Calum watches as he shuffles around the perimeter of the garden, meticulously checking each and every panel for gaps like always, before turning to his best friend with a massive grin and an even bigger thumbs up.

“Thanks, Cal!” Michael giggles and, just like that, Calum’s hit with a face full of flying towel and his best friend is bombing into the pool with a loud cheer. Calum smiles in response, the proper big toothy smile he reserves exclusively for Michael because nobody makes him happy quite like his best friend. He thinks about that sometimes; how they’ve both got smiles that only the other ever sees, and how Michael’s the most important person in Calum’s life even when he has a girlfriend or it’s his sister’s birthday or his grandparents are round. It’s like everything is second best to Michael, and he doesn’t think that’ll ever change, not even when they’re both married with wives and kids and a mortgage. A twinge of sadness settles in his stomach thinking about that, but then he always gets a little sad when he thinks about the future, so he elects to ignore it and sets off to join his best friend in the pool.

It gets late quickly, and Michael’s mum shouts them to start coming inside just as the sun starts setting. Michael’s furious, loudly exclaiming that he’s _“fourteen, not a child with a curfew who’s afraid of the dark,_ ” even though they both know he can’t sleep without a light on, which Calum doesn’t hesitate to remind him. He’s rewarded with a splash to the face and a sulk, which only transforms into a smile once Calum loudly admits defeat and declares that Michael is “ _king of everything”_ whereas Calum is the _“buttfuck ruler of asshole land.”_ It’s hilarious, even when they’re both shot a stern look through the kitchen window, and all Calum can think about is how lucky he got when he was partnered up with the weird kid with TMNT shorts in Year 5.

In all the hilarity, Calum doesn’t notice the bed sheet slipping before it’s too late. One second, Michael’s bent over double laughing into the water of the pool, and the next it’s like he’s been stabbed. Calum hears a gasp and sees wide green eyes staring over his shoulder. He knows what’s happened before he manages to whirl his head round, and his disastrous assumptions are confirmed by the blaring hole in the fence and the inquisitive neighbour peering through. Right into the garden. Right at the paddling pool. Right at Michael. _Michael._

By the time Calum’s made it back into reality, Michael’s already stumbling through the patio doors and up the stairs. The world seems to stop, everything completely silent except for the quiet sobbing sounds that Calum can hear as his best friend runs away, and suddenly Calum feels his heart drop right to the bottom of his stomach. It takes a second for him to react; it’s just that Michael being upset is a lot like Calum being upset himself, and his lungs feel heavy and he can already feel tears in his eyes and then his legs just start moving by themselves and suddenly he’s in the house, running after Michael like his life depends on it. He briefly registers Karen watching wide eyed from the kitchen doorway, but his mind is screaming _MichaelMichaelMichael_ and he doesn’t have time to stop for anyone.

The door to Michael’s bedroom is slammed shut when Calum reaches it, but the handle’s not forced up from the inside like it often is when Michael _really_ wants to be alone, so Calum barges through regardless. The sight he’s met with is horrifying.

Michael’s crying, _sobbing_ furiously, with his head in his hands and his back pressed against the bed. It takes Calum’s breath away, and not in the way seeing Michael usually does, but in a cold, violent punch to the gut. It takes all of Calum’s strength not to crumble to the ground, takes all of his will to stumble over to Michael and sprawl his tan arms around his best friend’s shaking body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, I promise it’s okay,” Calum mumbles, face pressed softly into Michael’s hair. He’s crying a little, silently and steadily, but he won’t let Michael see that. “Everything’s okay, Mikey, I’m here. I promise, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

“C-Cal,” Michael’s voice is wrecked, painfully cracking under the weight of his own tears and Calum can’t help but cry a little bit harder as he hears it. The younger boy _shhh_ s quietly, running a hand through Michael’s hair and holding him tighter. Calum’s staring to panic, and he just _can’t_ , not when he needs to be strong for Michael, because Calum feels like he’s in fucking hell and he’s not even the one having the panic attack. Just when he’s about to break, something in the corner catches his eye.

“Mikey,” He mutters, trying to stop shaking so his voice is steady, almost soothing. “Did you know jellyfish don’t have brains?”

There’s a stifled sob from the boy in Calum’s arms, then a hiccupy laugh before Michael starts shaking again, “W-What?”

Calum smiles, “Jellyfish don’t have brains, and not all of them have tentacles.” He squints, leaning in slightly to read more from the textbook propped up against the bed from their earlier revision session. He feels stupid, feels completely helpless and useless for thinking this might actually work, but nothing else comes to mind. “Most jellyfish use their tentacles to trap their pray, but the… scyphomedusa deepthingy doesn’t. Neat, huh?”

It’s silent for a moment, then Michael nods and he’s shaking just a little less and Calum feels like he could fucking _die_ with how relieved he is. He continues.

“Yeah, uh, and some jellyfish are immortal? I think that says immortal, yeah, because they’ve got like two stages, so some of them can just go back to the first stage when they’re upset,” Michael laughs at that, and Calum feels physically warmer. He cuddles him a tiny bit closer. “So it’s like if we could just, y’know… revert back to being babies when we we’re in a shit mood.”

Michael giggles again, “That’d be cool.” And Calum hums in agreement, because Calum’s pretty sure he’d agree with anything Michael has to say when he’s all choked up and curled into a ball like this. He tugs him closer and reels off some more facts, subconsciously leaning towards the book as he nears the end of the page. Michael notices, apparently, and shifts to the left, blindly throwing an arm out from the encapsulating cuddle Calum’s still trapping in him. He grabs the book, turning the page a little shakily and handing it to Calum. He looks up from the younger boy’s shoulder for the first time, and Calum holds his breath.

Michael’s beautiful; Calum’s always known that. Even when he’s complaining about his body, or shouting about a video game with a mouth full of Cheetos, Calum knows his best friend is ethereal. He told his mum once, described Michael as exactly that, and she quietly told him that boys don’t really like being called beautiful, which Calum never understood because Michael always blushed a little bit when Calum said it and that just made him look even more angelic.

But Calum’s never thought of Michael as _heartbreakingly_ beautiful, not until this second, with his quivering lip and glossy eyes and the faintest hint of a smile as he hands Calum the book. And Calum’s thirteen and straight and likes looking at girls in his class as much as the next boy, but he’d always choose Michael’s eyes over any of the girls’, even as the sadness in them right now makes his very core ache. Calum thinks he might be in love with Michael, in a more than platonic but less than romantic way, if that exists. He’s almost certain it does, though, because there’s no other way to describe the way they both seem to get lost in each other so much.

“Read to me some more?” Michael’s voice wavers as he asks, but it’s stronger than it was before and the sobs are more of a memory than a current issue, so Calum smiles softly and takes the book.

“Of course, Mikey.” He whispers. After all, Calum would do anything for Michael.

(Michael’s mum finds them like that an hour later; Michael asleep on Calum’s shoulder and Calum with his cheek pressed against Michael’s hair. Michael dreams about immortal jellyfish with a smile on his face.)

* * *

 

The arcade on the pier by Calum’s house is one of the most ancient establishments in Sydney. It’s decaying, fusty and older than both of Calum’s parents – and Michael’s favourite place.

Calum hates it, sort of. He hates the building itself, with its unstable floorboards and machines that never work for more than five minutes a time, and he hates the staff and the judgemental looks they throw around whenever he’s there, just because he’s a few years older than the usual clientele. He’s not particularly bothered by the stares, mostly because he usually just brings a book and plants himself on a bench for the duration, but the questionable glances directed towards Michael are unbearable.

See, Michael’s a dork. Calum loves him for it, as do his family, so he doesn’t really hold back on getting over-excited and geeking out at the arcades. It’s the only reason Calum doesn’t _completely_ hate the place; he could never hate something that makes his best friend so undeniably happy.

Michael’s usually so consumed by the machines that he doesn’t notice the glares sent his way, but Calum does. Calum feels every snicker and every laugh right in his bones, and it settles uneasy in his stomach and leaves him defensive and protective and on edge. It’s like he can’t focus when Michael’s in a compromising position, even if he’s unaware of it himself, and so Calum finds himself spending most of his time at the arcade suspiciously glaring at everyone in sight. Especially _that one guy._

 _That one guy_ can’t be more than a couple of years older than Michael and Calum, eighteen at most, but is the most condescending piece of shit Calum’s ever encountered in his life. He’s conventionally attractive, all chiseled muscle and prominent bones, and apparently that’s given him a severe superiority complex, because _that one guy_ has seemingly made it his life mission to annoy Calum. Sort of.

He doesn’t exactly _do_ anything, really - nothing to raise a formal complaint about anyway - but it’s enough to make Calum feel extremely uncomfortable and hook his chin over Michael’s shoulder in an attempt to calm his nerves. Michael ignores him, because of course he does, but just the warmth of being close to his best friend is enough for Calum.

It’s particularly cold the day that it all comes to peak, so Calum’s leeching as much of Michael’s natural body heat as he possibly can. They’re stood wrapped up in each other by the old school Pac Man machine that apparently struggles with the cold, because the screen keeps pausing randomly and the joystick is all over the place. Michael’s frustrated sighs are ruffling the pages of the Harry Potter book that Calum has precariously balanced against the edge of the machine and Michael’s stomach, but the frequent puffs of hot air are warming his hands simultaneously so Calum can’t complain.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Michael growls when the screen pauses for the sixth time. “I’m getting someone.”

It’s almost a reflex when Calum’s grip tightens against Michael, pulling him closer against his chest and dropping Harry Potter (his favourite book, may he add) in favour of linking his fingers against Michael’s stomach.

“Uh, no,” Calum stutters, avoiding Michael’s questioning gaze whilst trying to scout out _that one guy_ , who he knows is on shift. “I’ll go, you stay here.”

Michael sends Calum a shrug, giving up all suspicion and returning to messing with the joystick, and Calum sighs with rare relief that his best friend is so preoccupied with gaming. It’s a peculiar sort of relief, one that has Calum chuckling even as he scowls, simply because he’s so used to being frustrated by Michael’s incessant gaming habits. Calum remembers one particularly bad night before an exam two months ago that ended in the younger boy prying a teary-eyed Michael’s DS right out of his hands and threatening to bury it in the garden. It was a pointless endeavor; Michael spent the rest of the night pouting instead of revising and still managed to get an A, whereas Calum crammed all night and scraped a C. He really hates his best friend sometimes.

Calum’s mission to find an attendee turns out to be a fruitless endeavor. He assumes most of the staff are on break, or just don’t care much about their jobs, because the entire arcade floor is empty excluding himself, Michael and an elderly woman drooling on one of the out of order fruit machines. He chuckles at that, makes a mental note to bring Michael back round before they leave so he can laugh too, and sets off back towards the Pac Man machine with the hope that Michael will have had enough so they can go home and cuddle or something. Because it’s cold, obviously, and not for any other reason, despite what the little voice in the back of Calum’s mind keeps telling him.

Michael’s not alone when Calum gets back, and it’s enough to make his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach.

 _That one guy_ is learnt against the side of the machine, arms crossed and mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk. Calum can sense how uncomfortable Michael is even from this far away; he’s anxiously picking at the hem of his shirt, staring right at the joystick and shuffling in place like he’s two seconds away from bolting. Calum can’t help but squeak out a pained little noise from the back of his throat at how nervous his best friend looks, which accidentally catches both Michael and _that one guy_ ’s attention.

“Oh, here he is now!” _That one guy_ shouts in Calum’s direction, nudging Michael with his elbow just a little bit too harshly and sending him stumbling off balance. Calum sees red and hurtles towards the two, steadying Michael whilst simultaneously pushing him further away from the smarmy attendee. In the two seconds they’re touching, Calum feels how violent Michael’s shaking and starts to panic.

“Fuck off,” Calum growls, “Leave him alone.” He’s trying his best to appear threatening despite his weedy 15 year old stature because Michael’s whimpering behind him and he _can’t_ let himself panic when he knows what’s about to happen.

Things have been… difficult for Michael since last year, to put it lightly. That day in the garden seemed to have a lasting effect, one that’s only been noticeable to Calum because of late night conversations and twitchy hands gripping his in crowds and waking up at 3am to find his best friend sweating and crying beside him. It’s become alarmingly easy for him to spot when Michael’s about to drop into a panic attack. Which is happening right now.

“What?” _That one guy_ laughs, and it feels like he’s spitting venom right in Calum’s face. “Can’t the little fucking baby fight his own battles?”

For a second, Calum finds himself weighing up his chances if he was to throw a punch. He quickly decides there would be no chance, considering the guy’s got at least fifty pounds and a couple of years over him, but in his own blind rage he almost doesn’t care. The nerves in his fingers are twitching, begging to be clenched into fists and slammed right between those two condescending eyes, and Calum’s seconds away from giving into the temptation when there’s a tug on his shirt and an almost inaudible murmur of _“please”_ from behind him.

His worst fears are confirmed with a quick glance over his shoulder. There’s already tears streaming down Michael’s crimson cheeks, and the shaking taking over his body has transcended into violent tremors that make his legs unsteady and head feel heavy.

Calum panics, and does the only thing he feels suitable in the situation.

He kicks _that one guy_ between the legs, swipes his book from the floor, grabs Michael and _runs like fucking hell._

By the time they make it off the pier, Michael can’t hold himself up. He collapses, sobbing and uncontrollable, into a ball on the pavement, and all Calum can do is pet his head and hope for the best. Calum’s crying again, like he always does when Michael’s in pain, and there’s nobody around to help which makes everything that much worse.

Michael’s uncharacteristically loud over the sobbing, breathless little bursts of speech trying to explain himself to Calum, and Calum’s heart breaks because his best friend is _still_ trying to apologise after so many whispered conversations about how this is never his fault.

“C-Cal, I’m so s-sorry.” It’s unbearable to Calum, like the knife that is Michael’s pain already lodged in his chest and being twisted with every broken word stuttering from his lips.

“Shut up, Mikey,” He presses kisses to the older boy’s hair as he speaks, “It’s not your fault, never your fault, Mikey.”

It’s almost second nature then, for Calum to reach for the book dropped forgotten by his side as Michael’s sobs get worse. He flicks through pages with shaking fingers, coming to a random chapter and beginning to stammer through the words before he can think twice.

“M-Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand.” Calum smiles as he reads, struck by the sudden memory of Michael refusing to part ways with the Game Boy Advance he’d so tragically put through the washing machine when he was thirteen. Calum knows it’s still hidden away in the bottom drawer of Michael’s bedside table, left to gather dust under a plethora of “missing” homework and half finished assignments.

“T-that reminds me of…” Michael hiccups from within Calum’s arms, and Calum has to stifle a giggle as he slowly and deliberately recounts the very same Game Boy Advance story Calum had been reminded of himself. It instills a sort of gentle optimism in the younger boy; Michael’s fighting his way back from the worst of his attack by stuttering through better memories, _happy_ memories that the two of them share. He skips another few pages.

“Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost,” Calum feels Michael’s smile against his skin as he whispers those last words, no doubt remembering last year’s Christmas day disaster. Calum had told Michael it wasn’t a good idea, warned him multiple times that neither of their parents would be happy with flour all over their houses, but Calum learnt a very long time ago that nothing can stop Michael with a plan. He gave in eventually, assisting in decorating the carpets with sieves and baking powder, not because he thought it was a good idea, but because he’d do anything for Michael. Calum was right of course – both Joy and Karen were furious – but it brings a smile to his face regardless.

“Are you thinking about Christmas?” Michael whispers, mischief practically oozing from every syllable.

Calum grins, “Of course I am, Mikey.”

(They quickly descend into reminiscing and finishing each other’s tales as the other collapses into giggles, and Michael’s sorrow is soon forgotten. Calum still watches him carefully as they walk home; Michael smiles and pretends not to notice.)

* * *

 

Sometimes life moves too fast, in Calum’s humble opinion. Sure, some days still feel like years, but then years start to feel like days – and all of a sudden your life’s completely different.

2012 has been one long blur, punctuated only by extreme highs and lows in frequent intervals, and Calum’s not sure how but now it’s December and he’s sat in uncomfortable airport seating instead of his science classroom about to board a plane that could make or break him. There’s a queasy bubble of nerves floating about in his stomach, created by the unfamiliarity of the whole situation but quelled by the calm that’s radiating from seemingly everyone except him.

Ashton’s slouched over his suitcase just opposite Calum, lazily swiping through his phone and nodding his head to the beat of whatever rock song’s playing through his headphones. He looks like he’s waiting for a bus into town rather than a plane to the other side of the world, and Calum takes a minute to admire the older band mate’s innate ability to take absolutely _anything_ in his stride without question. Ashton’s definitely the reason they’ve made it this far, Calum has no doubt about that, and his complete nonchalance towards what could be a life-changing trip calms Calum’s nerves just the slightest bit.

To Ashton’s left is Luke, curled up in a ball with his forehead pressed against his mum’s shoulder. Calum admires Luke too, in a completely different way; he wishes he had that boy’s talent of falling asleep fucking anywhere. Liz has her reading glasses on, flicking a finger through what looks like agendas and contracts and important business stuff that none of the boys have ever really paid any mind to. Except Ashton, of course, who’s read everything they’ve ever signed at least three times.

It’s quiet in the airport, though Calum suspects it’ll get busier the closer it gets to boarding time. Liz had insisted they check in at least an hour and a half prior, because she knows them too well and suspected something would go wrong – which it did, because Liz is always right. It was Calum’s own fault this time, only realising he’d left both his passport and his boarding pass on the seat in his mum’s car when they reached the check in desk. To her credit, Liz had Joy on the phone in a matter of ten seconds flat, and they were safely checked in fifteen minutes later with no more obstacles. It’s now a waiting game, Calum thinks, as if this is the last moment of peace before everything starts happening. The calm before the storm. The silence before the supernova.

Except it’s not silent, because nothing’s ever silent when Michael’s involved. Calum’s been attempting to ignore the frustrated huffing coming from the seat next to him since they arrived, determined to dwell in the relaxed atmosphere the other half of the band had so easily sunk into. But, nothing’s easy when you’re Michael’s best friend, and so Calum finally turns and gives him the attention he desires.

“What’s wrong, Michael?” Calum’s being short with him, and in the back of his mind he knows he’ll feel immeasurably guilty about it later, but he’s tired and crabby and Michael’s just so _annoying_ sometimes.

Michael grins, happy to have weaseled Calum into conversation regardless of his tone, “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“Entertain yourself,” Calum rolls his eyes even as he lounges closer to Michael, linking their elbows over the metal armrest between them. “Watch some fucking anime or listen to music or something, I don’t know. Just stop fucking harassing me.”

“Caaaal,” Michael whines, and Calum instinctively sighs. Michael only ever breaks out that voice when he needs something, because he knows Calum can’t resist giving into his petulant ways. “I packed all my earphones in my suitcase.”

Honestly, Calum’s only a little surprised. That’s a whole new level of bad organisation for Michael; a boy who struggles to function without listening to music every twenty minutes forgets to bring earphones for a twenty-four hour flight. He almost refuses to believe it, then remembers that it’s _Michael_ he’s dealing with and that Michael would probably forget his own head were it not attached to his body.

Calum allows himself a second to sigh - and stare in jealousy at Ashton and Luke in their states of relaxation – before digging into his backpack to retrieve his pair of earphones from the bottom. He throws one side of the cord to Michael, who slips it into his ear with the widest shit-eating grin that Calum’s ever seen him muster up, and picks a random album from his list. It happens to be _The Black Parade_ , one of Michael’s all time favourites, and Calum can’t help but wonder if his own subconscious exists purely to please his best friend, or if it’s just the little voice in the back of his head getting to him again.

“Love you, Cal.” Michael’s whispers, pulling his beanie – that definitely belongs to Calum – over his eyes and curling into the younger boy’s side. Calum drags himself out of his own thoughts just in time to flash his best friend a loving smile, the one reserved just for Michael, and rest his head against their connected arms. Calum elects to ignore the voice in his head for just a little longer, and closes his eyes. Maybe sleep will settle his nerves.

It doesn’t. The ten minutes of rest Liz grants Calum does nothing but leave him tired and disorientated, and by the time it’s ready to board he’s ten seconds away from proclaiming himself as a dead weight and dropping to the ground. His only retribution is that Michael is just as exhausted, so the two are propping each other up like some mismatched teenage pendulum ready to collapse at any moment. Michael’s got his arms wrapped around Calum’s stomach and his chin hooked over his shoulder, mumbling incoherent song lyrics and nursery rhymes, and Calum’s almost 100% sure that Luke starts videoing the scene at some point, but he can’t keep his eyes open long enough to be too concerned. It feels nice anyway, Michael’s warm, heavy breathing against his neck; Calum doesn’t think they’ve got anything to be ashamed of.

Ashton – as the spoilsport he is – apparently disagrees, and doesn’t hesitate to wrench the two boys off each other in an alarmingly over dramatic fashion. It wakes Michael up a bit, seems to give him enough energy to roll his eyes at the older boy, which in turn sends Calum into a hysteric fit of giggles. Ashton starts huffing and puffing as a consequence, whilst Luke and Liz sensibly choose to watch from the background, smiling knowingly at the familiar scene as it unfolds.

They stumble onto the plane five minutes later; Michael and Ashton are still bickering about anything and everything they can, loud enough now for the entire plane to hear. Michael has one hand clasped firmly around Calum’s though, practically dragging the younger boy to their seats. They’re opposite Ashton and Luke, with Liz a couple of rows behind, and Calum tries his hardest not to let on how ecstatic he is. He doesn’t think he’d be able to spend twenty-four hours without cuddling up to Michael.

Calum goes into autopilot for a couple of minutes, dropping Michael’s hand to shove his bag in the overhead locker and shuffle into his seat. He buckles his seatbelt too, inadequately apparently, because Michael leans over to tighten it up and nuzzle his cheek against Calum’s in some exhausted sign of affection. Calum tries hard not to overthink the soaring feeling in his chest whenever Michael does something like that.

He thinks he drifts off for a couple of minutes, must do, because one second the plane’s half empty and the next the safety procedures are complete and they’re travelling towards the runway. Calum’s unsure of why he even woke up, is about to close his eyes and settle back down when he feels a sharp clench against his hand. It takes his breath away for a second, and he’s about to lazily berate Michael for being too rough when he looks up.

Calum is very quickly the most awake he’s been all day.

Michael’s having a panic attack, that much is certain. He’s white as a sheet, shaking and crying quietly as he stares searchingly into Calum’s eyes as if they hold the answer or a cure or anything to stop the impending disaster. Calum doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing that desperation in his best friend’s eyes, not if he has to help him out of a thousand panic attacks; it breaks his heart every damn time.

“Mikey…” He breathes, keeping his voice as low as possible. He can tell Michael’s trying to be quiet, his usual violent sobs replaced with muffled whimpers and quick breaths, and Calum feels himself going breathless at the speed of it all. He momentarily flails, uncertain that he can handle this new situation, before something clicks inside him and the protective part of his brain seemingly takes over. He cuddles into Michael, running the hand not trapped against the armrest through the older boy’s hair and whispering into his ear.

“You’re okay, it’s okay.” Calum can feel Michael shaking under his touch, tries not to let his voice show how much it hurts him to see his best friend like this. “I’m right here, Mikey. You’ve got me, I’ve got you.”

For the first time in a long time, Calum’s reassurances seem to be useless, because Michael lets out an outrageous sob as the plane continues making its way up the runway. The scene’s sure to have caught Luke and Ashton’s attention by now, probably Liz too, but Calum can’t afford to take his eyes off Michael for more than a second. The plane speeds up, and Michael looks pale and faint and everything Calum doesn’t want him to be, and everything seems to be going wrong.

Calum goes for his last ditch attempt. He prises his hand from Michael’s grasp, trying to ignore the pained whimpers coming from his best friend, and fumbles in his pocket to find his phone. It’s in airplane mode, thankfully, but the app he’s looking for opens immediately.

“F-For thousands of years, man has gazed at the stars and wondered what they are,” Calum stammers, reaching once more for Michael’s hand and squeezing it gently. It’s somehow both sweaty and cold beneath his. “He made up stories and legends about them. And one of those stories was that stars were souls or spirits, watching down upon the Earth.”

Michael smiles, a difficult half-smile, half-grimace, through the tears, “G-go on.”

“When a person dies, some believe their soul ascends to join the stars above.” Calum can feel the shaking in his hands start to slow, hears the breathing beside him start to even out, and nearly cries with relief. “So, when we die we don’t go to heaven, but a little bit of us shines down on the rest of the world forever.”

“We’re all gonna be stars.” It’s weak, small, quiet – but Calum hears it. It’s almost magic, Calum thinks, how strong Michael truly is. He’s in awe of his best friend, truly admires him for somehow always making it through hell and coming back out with a sarcastic comment and a smile on his face.

There’s tears on Calum’s cheeks when he responds, “You’re already a star, Mikey.”

The plane leaves the tarmac, and Calum stares at the boy beside him with all the love his exhausted heart can fathom.

(The rest of the journey is seamless with Michael’s hand squeezed tightly against Calum’s. Later, when they finally reach their temporary home, Michael crawls under Calum’s duvet and intertwines their fingertips once more. When Calum meets his eyes, they’re exhausted and drained but the gold flecks still shine against emerald, and Calum thinks he’ll always be just fine as long as he’s got Michael.)

* * *

 

Writing becomes an escape for Calum. There’s something extraordinary about losing himself in a song, ink spilling onto paper as lyrical translations of jumbled thoughts that aren’t at all as beautiful in his head. It makes the battles in his mind a little easier to fight, being able to find some relief and pour his energy into creating and working and doing _anything_ other than be trapped in his own concerns.

They’re all about Michael – Calum’s concerns, that is. The past two years have been a journey for all of them, but Michael seems to have been weathered the most by the long nights and longer days. Calum’s lost count of all the hours spent awake in his best friend’s bunk, coaxing him back into peace and sleep and doing anything to soothe his demons. He often wishes that Michael could find the same escape in writing that Calum has, instead of letting everything bottle up until it destroys him from within.

It’s not all doom and gloom, though. Calum’s somehow living his dream with his three best friends, and for every one bad night with Michael there’s three incredible days of writing, or performing, or just lounging around together like they did back in Sydney.

Calum stopped referring to Sydney as home sometime last year. He didn’t think anyone would notice, didn’t assume anyone paid that much attention, but he should’ve known better. Michael picked up on it, like he picks up on every little habit of Calum’s, and spent one night asking why Calum always said he missed his family rather than _home_ in small whispers with his head pressed against Calum’s chest. Calum had smiled in response, only really coming to an answer in that very second.

“Home is wherever you are, Mikey.”

Since then, Michael’s stopped complaining about missing home too. He still misses his family, cries quietly into Calum’s side about it on long bus journeys, but wraps himself up in his own home before he can think too much about it. They survive that way; being one another’s light houses through sunny days and dark nights.

It’s the darkest night in a long time when the album is finally finished. Calum’s exhausted, only managing to keep his eyes open with the help of several cups of coffee and the hyperactive best friend clinging to his arm. Ashton and Luke have already admitted defeat, crawling away and into their hotel room at least an hour ago, but Michael’s determined to stay on the video call with the studio right until the last second, set on being present when the album is declared officially finished. Calum’s been falling asleep since midnight if he’s honest, but nothing’s worse than the thought of Michael sitting at the laptop alone for such a monumental moment, so he powers through. He’d do anything for Michael, after all.

The producers in the studio have completely given up on trying to entertain Michael’s overexcited questioning, meaning Calum’s being subjected to the nonsensical rambling and queries that always tend to fall from Michael’s mouth when he’s not had much sleep. Calum’s not exactly complaining considering he could listen to the older boy talk for hours, but even _he_ has to admit that it’s getting a little grating.

“Mikey?” Calum sighs eventually, interrupting some long-winded anecdote about the best key changes in music history that he’s ninety percent certain he’s heard before. “Do you mind if I put on some music whilst we wait?”

Michael nods and waves his hand as he often does when he isn’t listening to a word Calum’s saying, which is a habit Calum’s had to learn to live with. The older boy slumps back against the shitty hotel headboard, lazily pushing the laptop towards Calum and falling straight back into another one-sided conversation that Calum’s already zoned out of. He flicks through spotify absent mindedly for a while, settling on the sleep playlist he’d made for Michael during tour a few months ago, before shuffling closer to the boy beside him and dropping to the pillow.

The playlist has the desired effect almost immediately; the opening chords of some acoustic Jack’s Mannequin song subduing Michael within seconds, enough that his shoulders visibly relax and he leans to nuzzle into Calum’s chest. Calum doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how happy he is on nights like this, with the most important person in his life pressed up against him and slow songs echoing around the room. It resonates within Calum, not for the first time, that he wouldn’t want to exist in a world in which he couldn’t love Michael. The little voice in the back of his head agrees.

“Cal,” Michael murmurs from where his lips are pushed against Calum’s skin. “Can we cuddle?”

Calum chuckles, “We are cuddling, Michael.”

“No,” And then he’s lifting his head up completely to look straight into Calum’s eyes. “Properly. Like we used to.”

Calum tries not to read too much into how small Michael seems in the dark room, eyes almost hesitant as he asks to be cuddled. He knows it’s a big deal for the older boy to initiate things like this sometimes, an ingrained fear of judgement paired with his own self esteem issues meaning Calum usually has to pick up on the telltale signs. He nods, because of course he does, and they swing their limbs around for a second until two noses are pressed together and their legs and arms are all wrapped up.

It’s slightly uncomfortable for Calum, not that he’d ever tell Michael that. They used to lie like this most nights before the band really kicked off, but several years and puberty’s effects mean Calum’s legs are just a little too long and they’re both sort of not quite falling off the bed even when they’re this close. It’s not entirely relaxing, but it’s home wrapped up in Michael’s arms, so Calum wouldn’t even think about complaining.

“Everything’s changing, isn’t it?” Michael whispers some time later. The clock on the bedside table’s been gracelessly pushed on its side but the soft sound of birdcall from outside the window indicates it’s well past 4am. Calum had thought Michael had fallen asleep a while ago, lulled into slumber by the soothing acoustic still playing from the laptop on Calum’s legs, so the question comes as a surprise.

“What do you mean?” Calum replies, just as quiet, and shuffles carefully to try and catch Michael’s gaze. It’s dark, but the older boy’s eyes are illuminated by the screen at the end of the bed, and Calum’s almost breathless with the concern he sees in them.

“I-I just,” Michael sighs. “It’s different now, isn’t it? Like we’ve got an _album_ , Cal; it’s not just a dream anymore.”

Calum smiles, “That’s a good thing, Mikey. We’ve almost made it.” He’s desperately trying to be optimistic, ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that wants to spill all his nerves and anxieties, because he wants to be the pillar for Michael to lean on when his thoughts are like this. _Needs_ to be that little bit of security for his best friend.

It’s different when it happens this times. Calum feels the shakes in short, violent bursts against his skin, rather than the usual tremors that completely overwhelm Michael’s body. He can hear little whimpers punctuating the silence in the room, like Michael’s desperately trying to keep everything inside regardless of how many times Calum’s made him promise not to.

“Mikey…” Calum warns, reaching behind him to flick on the lamp by the bedside table. In the new light, he can see tears already settling on Michael’s cheeks and the sight kills him.

“Don’t.” Michael’s voice is uncharacteristically strong, “Don’t. I’m okay.”

There’s an unfamiliar tension in the room that makes Calum squirm in place. He latches onto Michael, grabbing both his hands and squeezing them tight before moving them up to the pillow between their heads. Michael smiles, eyes clenched shut, and tries to even his breathing between shaky sobs. It hurts Calum to watch, how he can only grip his best friend’s hands tighter and reassure him that he’s still here. Calum doesn’t know how to handle this situation; he’s become confident in calming Michael down over the past couple of years, despite how much he continues to panic, but this is _different_ and _new_ and Calum has complete faith in Michael’s strength to pull himself out but it’s god damn fucking _painful_ to have to just watch.

The sobs stop almost as abruptly as they began, with one harsh cough and a deep breath. Michael opens his eyes, still shaking, and smiles softly at Calum’s worried face. He’s pretty sure he’s crying – Calum, that is – and he curses himself for letting his weakness pull through. He’s about to apologise when Michael speaks again.

“Read to me?”

Calum doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fast in his life. He’s nodding before Michael’s finished speaking, scrambling to the edge of the bed with one arm thrust into his bag searching for anything and everything he can read. His fingertips brush over folded pages just as he’s becoming desperate, and he smiles to himself as he pulls the book into his eyesight and recognises the cover. It’s a poetry book, one he’d stumbled upon in a hotel lobby in Europe and picked up on a whim, that he’s been reading whenever he has a spare minute. He grins, catching Michael’s curious eye, and flicks to the last stanza of a poem he read the week before.

“I’d like you in my confidence, I’d like to be your second look.” There’s a slight waver to his voice, and he can feel his throat threatening to crack as he reads. It’s not the soothing ode Calum wants it to be, but the anticipation climbing his every nerve spurs him on. “I’d like to let you try the French Defence, and mate you with my rook. I’d like to be your preference and hence I’d like to be around when you hook.”

There’s a snort of confusion and amusement from Michael then, and Calum pauses his reading to find Michael staring right into his eyes with something new, something unfamiliar in his gaze. Calum smiles shyly, takes a breath and continues.

“I’d like to be your only audience, the final name in your appointment book,” Calum hesitates, the words caught in his throat. It occurs to him that this might be more of a confession than he would like to admit, that Michael might recognise the honesty in his voice and the truth in the words he’s speaking. He smiles. Maybe that wouldn’t be all too bad.

“Your future tense.”

It’s silent, but only for a moment. Calum lifts his eyes from the ink on the page to his best friend’s eyes. They seem to glimmer in the light, reflections bouncing from the pool of tears still hanging underneath his eyelids. The shaking’s stopped, Calum realises, and for a second he’s lost in thinking about how he didn’t notice, how he’s probably embarrassed himself by reading when Michael was okay, how Michael’s probably laughing at him.

And then Michael’s kissing him. It’s only for a moment, more of a gentle peck than a kiss, but it’s what Calum’s been waiting for – willingly or not – for _years_ , and the shock of it makes him lightheaded. When he blinks back into reality, Michael’s patiently staring at him, lip twitching as if he’s unsure whether to smile or not. Calum breaks into a hesitant grin, and then Michael’s chuckling, and then they’re kissing again.

Amongst short breaths and quiet giggles, Calum decides that, yeah, everything might be changing – but that’s more than okay with him.

(The album is officially finished at 6:24am. When the producers come back to the video call, Michael and Calum are sleeping soundly in each other’s arms, lips swollen and hair messy. The producers end the call without a word.)

* * *

 

For a while, it’s perfect.

The album’s an overwhelming success, and Calum is living his dream with his best friend by his side – and falling asleep kissing said best friend isn’t half bad either. Michael and Calum are inseparable; they sleep together, eat breakfast together, write together, explore cities together, and perform to thousands of smiling faces every night side by side. It’s exhausting, yes, but they keep each other going, just like always. The unspoken love between them is enough to overcome anything.

Until it isn’t.

Fame, or the twisted version of the concept they find themselves in, becomes a solitary disease. Neither of them notices it happening until it’s too late, but suddenly Calum and Michael start sleeping by themselves and making breakfast by themselves and writing songs by themselves. To an outsider, nothing’s changed, but Calum starts going to bed without the taste of Michael still lingering on his lips and Michael wakes up without drool on his chest and everything is _different_.

Luke’s too caught up in the pressure of being the front man he’s expected to be to pay attention, but Ashton. Ashton watches from afar as they fall apart, as nights having to drag Michael and Calum away from each other turn into nights watching as they crawl into separate rooms without so much as a ‘goodnight’. It’s strange even for Ashton, who only met the two of them part way through their life together. It’s just that, it’s been _months_ now, and neither of them have even acknowledged how significantly their time spent together has reduced. Ashton convinces himself that it’s just natural, two friends drifting apart for a few months, and well, that’s just that.

It becomes more than _just that_ a week before Michael’s 19th birthday. They’re on the tour bus – god knows where, Ashton’s lost track – and the four of them have been lounging around in the back room for the majority of the night, doing nothing just to pass the time. Ashton’s rather enjoying himself watching Michael annihilate Luke in a ridiculously aggressive game of FIFA, the two boys hurling insults at each other as Ashton just laughs from the sidelines. Calum’s sat opposite him, one arm curled protectively over his journal as the other works quickly to scrawl whatever he’s thinking onto the page. Ashton thinks he sees Calum glancing at Michael from the corner of his eye, but chooses to ignore it in favour of laughing at Luke as he storms away having just lost _another_ game to Michael.

“Guess that means we’re done for the night,” The apparent victor chuckles, ruffling Ashton’s hair as he stands up. “Night, guys.”

Ashton wouldn’t have believed it, had he not seen in with his own two eyes. It’s the sign he’s been looking out for for months, the tiny indication that whatever this thing is between Michael and Calum is isn’t just _nothing._ As Michael stands up to leave, he throws what Ashton assumes is meant to be a casual glance at Calum, but transforms into complete devastation when the younger boy doesn’t even look up from his journal. Michael’s out of the door before Ashton can even respond, and he’s left in shock with only the quiet sounds of Calum’s pen scribbling against paper.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you two?!” It comes out of nowhere, the outburst, but at least it’s enough to get Calum to fucking stop writing.

“What?” Calum’s distant, still lost in his own head probably, but Ashton’s gotten used to this Calum recently. Sometimes it feels like he’d rather spend all of his time with his head in that journal than even _be_ in the band.

“You and Michael,” Ashton notices Calum’s flinch at the name. “What’s going on?”

Calum shrugs, “Ask him. I don’t know.” And just like that, he’s back to writing.

“Fine,” Ashton mutters. “I fucking will.”

It turns out to be a harder task than first expected. When Ashton finds Michael, he’s wrapped up in his bunk doing his best to ignore the outside world. It takes five minutes and several bribing tactics to get a conversation out of him.

“I need to talk to you, Mikey.” Ashton’s basically begging now, because he doesn’t think he can handle another second of whatever’s going on.

“I don’t want to talk about what you want to talk about.” Michael replies, stubborn as ever. There’s a sigh from within the mound of sheets he’s hidden under, then he slides his head out to look at Ashton as he speaks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it’s shit for you too, but I can’t do anything about it.”

“I don’t even know what _it_ is, Michael.”

Michael sighs, running a hand through his newly dyed hair. It looks good, the red, but Ashton can’t help remembering that it happens to be Calum’s favourite colour, and that just makes everything more frustrating.

“Neither do I, Ash!” Michael practically shouts. “That’s the fucking problem! I don’t fucking know what I’ve done but all of a sudden it’s like I’m not _good enough_ for his attention and that fucking sucks.”

Ashton panics, admittedly. He can see Michael’s hands have started shaking and tears are starting to pool underneath his eyes, and he recognises the signs of a panic attack. Michael’s not had one in months, and it briefly hits Ashton that Calum’s the only one of them who’s ever had the ability to calm Michael down.

“It fucking sucks so much because one day it was like all he needed was _me,_ a-and now he won’t even fucking look at me!” Michael’s voice cracks, sobs pouring out after every word. “He won’t fucking look at me but I still look at him because he’s my world and I don’t know what to do without him because I’m so _fucking in love with him_ that I can’t think straight if he’s not here and-“

Michael’s own coughing interrupts his explosion, breathless and frantic as he scrambles and gasps and grips at the bedsheets beneath him. Ashton panics, searching for answers in Michael’s eyes and only finding sheer desperation. When Michael cries out, Ashton does the only thing he can think of.

*

Writing is more than just an escape for Calum. It’s like a painkiller, feeling paper beneath his pencil seems to cancel out the constant dull ache that’s overtaken him in the last few months. He doesn’t know how it happened, doesn’t really care about the beginnings, just wants it to end as soon as it can. There’s nothing more painful than watching Michael crawl into his own bunk, metres away from where he should be in Calum’s arms, where he _belongs_. He jots that thought down, small in the corner of a blank page, for no other reason than to stop it from destroying his mind left unsaid.

The sound of the back lounge door slamming open interrupts him. Ashton’s stood in the doorway, bright red and breathing heavily. It’s a strange sight, bearing in mind Calum had seen him looking completely put together just ten minutes before, and Calum finds himself giggling at the incoherent mess Ashton has apparently become in that short space of time.

He stops when he hears it. It’s only quiet, but Calum couldn’t forget that sound in a million years. He’s heard that strained whimper so many times over the years that his body goes into autopilot, flying from his seat on the sofa and through the door before Ashton can even open his mouth. He slams himself into every wall possible on the way, a few short metres feeling like a hundred miles, and his body is on fire by the time he’s reached him.

Calum sobs the second the curtain’s ripped open. Michael’s curled up in the back corner, head pressed into his thighs with his whole body shaking violently. It’s the worst Calum’s ever seen him, only made more devastating by the fact that both boys had though the attacks had stopped for good, that Michael was getting better.

“Mikey, I-I’m here.” The words are croaky and painful to say, tears blurring his vision and clogging up his throat. Michael physically tenses as he speaks, which just makes Calum sob more, and seems to move even further away.

“G-Go away, I’m fine.” Michael stammers out, voice barely audible and hoarse with crying. Calum stumbles forward shaking his head, choosing to ignore the first words Michael has said directly to him in at least a week. Michael _needs_ him, no matter what he says.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere, I’m here. You’ve got me. I’m here.”

“Y-you’re not,” Michael sobs, finally lifting his head and staring at Calum as he climbs into the bunk carefully. “You’re not fucking here! You haven’t fucking been here for months!”

The anger in his voice surprises Calum, hits like a knife in the heart, and he feels his stomach drop. It’s true, he doesn’t know why, but he’s not been _there_ for Michael. The realisation triggers more sobs, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks as he shakes his head.

“I know, I know,” Calum’s almost hysteric, grabbing at Michael’s hands. He’s surprised when the older boy lets their fingers intertwine. “I’m here now, okay? I promise, I’m here forever.”

“What did I do?” Michael asks after a second of silence. His voice sounds completely broken, all anger having evaporated, and Calum hates himself so much for ever letting him think he didn’t need him.

“I thought…” Calum starts, words caught up in his throat. “I thought you didn’t want me. I thought _I_ wasn’t good enough for _you.”_

Michael scoffs, “That’s fucking stupid. You just, you j-just… you just forgot about me.”

And, that. That’s outrageous to Calum, not even worth thinking about, because Calum’s pretty sure he’s been in love with Michael since he knew what love was, so how could he ever just _forget_ about him?

“I – no, what?” Calum splutters. “How could you think I forgot about you? How could you think I didn’t miss you?”

“You made it pretty easy,” Michael laughs, but it’s bitter and wrong and makes Calum squirm. “I love you, and you just… didn’t love me enough, I guess.”

“Shut up.” Calum shouts, and it comes out more aggressive than intended, because Michael lets out another silent sob and moves away from Calum. “No, no – don’t. I didn’t mean… fuck, Michael, listen to me, okay? Just listen.”

Michael nods, and Calum hesitantly reaches for the journal lying forgotten beside him. The older boy winces when Calum opens it, memories of being ignored in favour of the pages triggering another wave of tears.

“I know,” Calum starts, voice shaky. “I know I’ve neglected you. But I have always loved you more than anything, Mikey. I promise.”

Michael shakes his head, opens his mouth as if to protest, but Calum’s quicker. “Let me just- let me read to you, okay? Like old times?”

There’s a second of silence, then Michael blinks at the journal in Calum’s hands and nods slowly. Calum smiles, takes a deep breath, and delves into the first few pages.

“Monday morning and the echo of your lips on mine is sweet as sugar and sour as lemons. Waking up beside you is a heaven in itself, yet I wish only to sleep, thus I can lie by your side forever without the concern of time and aging.”

Calum feels bare, revealing his inner thoughts like this, but the warmth of Michael’s hand in his spurs him on.

“I could watch you forever, and not in a creepy way,” There’s a breathless huff from Michael’s corner of the bunk then. “But like watching a rosebud blossom, or the waves crash in. You’re a natural beauty, taking your energy from those around you and within yourself. I love to watch your breath as you sleep, your lips as you hum, and your smile as you listen to thousands sing your words back to you. I love to watch your chest rise and fall as you whisper my name, your cheeks brush against my shoulder as you fall apart around me, and your fingers hold mine as I silently confess my love for you in kisses and licks and breathless thrusts. I could watch you forever, in any way you want me to.”

He chances a glance at Michael, only to find emerald eyes glistening and staring into his. For a second, he thinks Michael’s about to push him away, but there’s a tiny smile etched into his pale skin.

“Go on,” His voice is quiet but confident, just how Calum loves Michael. Calum smiles, flicking through a few pages to find another promise of his love. His heart sinks when he sees the date scratched into the top of the page.

“This, um,” Calum croaks. “This is from the first night we spent apart.”

It only takes one glance at the words for Calum to recall _why_ this all began. It was a particularly bad night for Calum, riddled with anxieties and feelings of worthlessness and wishes that he could just get on a plane and go back to his family, back before the band took off. They’d visited a club – Luke’s request – to try and take their minds off the busy week they’d been having, and Calum had stayed quiet in one corner the entire night. He’d watched as Michael sauntered round the bar, effortlessly making friends and smiling at everyone he came across, and been struck with the realisation that Michael was an _angel,_ deserving of all the happiness in the world, whereas Calum couldn’t even find happiness in himself. Calum had jumped into a taxi by himself and locked the door before Michael returned to the hotel without a second thought. It was _his_ fault, this whole thing. His fault that they’d spent months without each other.

Calum’s pulled out of his thoughts by Michael squeezing his hand. He feels the tears on his cheeks, realises he’s started crying again when he remembers.

“Mikey,” His words are heavy with his realisation. “That night… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Michael smiles, though tears are still falling. “It’s okay. Keep reading?”

Calum nods, and begins again. “3am. It’s 3am and I’m all alone, like I should be. You deserve so much more than this lifeless happiness I give to you, so much more than the love I can’t even tell you about. You deserve more than me, and I wish that wasn’t true, because I can’t think of a second I haven’t wanted you my whole life. I wish I could be coffee, so you could drink me and be warm. I wish I could be music, so I could make you happy in the saddest of times. I wish I could be a painting, or a piece of art, to entertain you with my beauty if only for a moment. I wish I could be the world, so I could give myself to you – but even then you would deserve more.”

Michael’s crying again when Calum looks up, and it takes everything in Calum’s power not to reach over and kiss the tears away until he’s smiling again.

“Cal…” Michael starts, but Calum shakes his head, determined to prove himself.

“No, just – just one more, okay Mikey?” He flips to a page near the end of the journal, one he wrote only a few weeks ago. “This one’s new, because I still love you, even now, even when you thought I didn’t.

“I miss you. Three words with the weight of a thousand bricks and a thousand feathers at once. I miss you when I wake up and I can’t feel your head against my chest, or your hair tickling my chin, or your hand down my pants on your more exciting mornings,” Calum fights back a smile at the outraged giggle that comes out of Michael. “I miss making breakfast with you, whether it’s a bowl of cereal or a ten plate feast to soothe a hangover. I miss the little things, your smile when I kiss your cheek and how you blush when I compliment you. I miss your soft pale skin peeking out of my shirts, miss your hair flat under my beanie, miss your lips made swollen by mine. I miss you, and I miss everything that made you a part of us. Because without _us_ , you’re still you; an ethereal cloud of happiness and energy and late night talks and inspiring words. But without us, I’m nothing. I’m reduced to an empty shell without you, and it would feel like all I could do is lie awake and miss your smile, were it not for the overwhelming love for you that keeps me alive. All I can do is love you and miss you. I miss you. I love you.”

It’s silent, but just for a moment, because it can never be truly silent when Michael is your best friend. Calum’s brown eyes meet Michael’s green, and it’s like everything falls back into place. Calum sees all the love and hope and _forgiveness_ that he’s missed seeing in those eyes so much; Michael sees the light that’s been missing in Calum for months.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Michael Clifford.” Calum smiles. “And I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up and get over here, you fucking idiot.”

Michael grins, and then his lips meet Calum’s and everything is okay. It’s sloppy; teeth hitting teeth and too much giggling into each other’s mouths, but it’s _MichaelandCalum_ again after so many months of Michael and Calum. It feels like coming home after months on the road, and when Michael whispers _I love you_ through breathless kisses, Calum knows he’ll do anything to never be without his home again.

After all, Calum would do anything for Michael.

**Author's Note:**

> (p.s thank you so much to everyone who's read my story 'tie me to your fingertip' which just surpassed 1000 hits!! if you haven't read it, go check it out. it's a malum soulmate au and my favourite/longest fic)  
> (p.p.s I started a tumblr purely for fic stuff, it's mixingupmywordsagain - so go follow if you want)


End file.
